The Rider and the Wyrm

A gentle, westward breeze off Lake Sullen made the tall grasses of the scrubby wetland shudder. Drier than the seasonally flooded meadows north yet wetter than the forested swamps to the south, the damp shrubland was difficult to navigate. The ankle- to knee-deep water that stretched across most of it made travel by foot tiring and the uniformity of the water-tolerant grasses that dominated the scenery meant there was few landmarks to commit to memory. Even the raised ridges of solid land that dotted the wetland were difficult to distinguish from each other, each crowded with sapling trees and low shrubs that would one day turn the buttonbush swamp into a true swamp.

This is what made it a perfect hunting ground for the unseen predator that circled Hilde and her steed.

It was not ideal in all ways, of course. The water made it hard to move unnoticed, especially for something as large as the invisible hunter: well over four times the length of Ezekiel. Its great size made for long strides though, and long strides let it easily overcome human-sized prey sloshing through thigh-deep water, if it had to chase down its food at all. Distracted prey- prey that was trying to orient itself, prey that was trying to decide if it was walking in circles, prey that was worried about wet socks and chaffing undergarments- was very, very easy prey.

And the circling predator enjoyed easy prey, almost as much as it had decided it disliked Hilde. The woman's armor reminded it of the dreadful adventurers of its homeland, the so-called heroes who thought killing it would bring them greatness and honor, not just end the life of a creature far more magnificent and great than they. Not to mention her choice in companion. Horses were awful, dull, dim creatures in the hunter's opinion. They received entirely too much attention.

She was far more deserving of attention, the predator decided, so she would start by biting its head off.

Stooping low, the hunter ceased her circling and began to close in. She attempted to find her footing solely on the solid hummocks that rose above the marshy ground, but inevitably one of her hind feet slipped and made a small splash...  

The unseen predator froze. She was thankful for the breeze running over her back. Her camouflage was impressive, but not perfect. It was not true invisibility. The swaying of the grasses around and behind her would hide her faint outline.

In the meantime, she needed to distract this pesky little adventurer.

Slowly, the transparent hunter stretched her tail out, dipping it low towards the marshy water. With a sudden flick- a flash of silver then blueish gray the silver once more- she made a small splash. She hoped the knight errant would draw closer to investigate, exposing her flank.

Surprised by the slash of superheated air, the hunter froze, allowing the tip of her tail to be scaled. It left no lasting damage, but stung terribly, so, much to her embarrassment, the hunter could not help but cry out.

"Exicretounisqae ti!" the empty air cursed.

The shrubby swamp fell dead silent for a moment. The birds went quiet. The insects ceased their songs. The frogs their chorus.

Then the air ionized, producing a long, lean draconic shape from nothing.

Scales like mirror shards folded down and rustled into place, producing a low, angry buzzing like that of a rattlesnake. These diamond-shaped scales flashed vibrant silver as they shivered and strobed, but settled on a rather dull blue-gray, like the sky with light cloud cover. The wyrm was large, two heads taller than Ezekiel, but not as massive as the valjornns that patrolled No Man's Land. It was also strangely proportioned, with a short, flattened tail and a long, round trunk that made its head and neck seem small in comparison. Its crocodilian head was encircled by a crown of enlarged scales and curling horns.

"That," it hissed in English, its voice breathy and reptilian, but identifiably feminine, "was unpleasant."

The great hunter was once again caught off guard, but the surprise was decidedly pleasant this time. Grinning despite her cracked, crocodile jaws, the drake rustled her scales happily, sending silver down her considerable length like a wave. She did not know who this Greshlynk was, but this woman clearly recognized greatness when it imposed itself onto her.

“Finally,” the contented predator cooed. “Someone with proper manners!”

However, the metallic eyes of the huge reptile then flicked at Ezekiel without love. Her voice dropped to a disapproving hiss. “Your beast though... order it away and we shall speak.”

The coil of predation left the drake’s body. Tension became relaxation. Tautness turned to looseness. Like melting steel, the grayish creature sunk to the ground, her huge, barrel-like chest coming to rest on it and support her weight instead of her forelimbs. Her tightly furled wings unfolded some, hanging at her sides like solar panels.

The drake seemed to think for a moment, head cocked, then she gestured at Hilde’s head with a clawed hand. “Remove the helmet as well.”

“So you have,” Moria smiled approvingly, though, privately, she was more amused than pleased. Her heart was smirking, not smiling. What an obedient little scrap.

Arching her tail up, the bluish drake placed a hand wistfully on her breast as she addressed the night errant.

“You are a rare breed,” she bemoaned, her voice a deep, vibrating drone like the rumble in the throat of a huge crocodile. “So many here are disrespectful! Or worse. I’ve been hunted and dismissed so often here. It’s refreshing to meet someone who knows better. Such a well-educated traveler. A true rarity. A gem.”

Steely eyes looked into the woman. “What is your name, little sparkling stone?”

"Moria," the drake purred. "And yes, I have heard of your people. Tales of them reach far into No Man's Land. I hear them on the lips of travelers often."

The silver wyrm leaned closer, her crocodilian head hanging over Hilde. "This is the first I have heard of their respect for my kind though. Tell me more."

Moria worked hard to prevent her crocodile's smile from breaking. Her annoyance visibly tensed her body though, a shiver of tautness running down her length.

"Well," she declared sharply, her breathy voice slightly friendlier than a hiss, "I would like to think I am my own drake, but we dragons always seem to find our way into religions. I suppose we are simply too magnificent not to."

After a moment of cold silence, the bluish wyrm let out a long breath from her nostrils, and her stance relaxed once more. In a refreshed tone, she continued, "Even if I am not a protector of the world, perhaps I shall protect you until you reach your location. Never let it be said that Moria does not appreciate polite conversation! Where are you headed, little Hilde? I have traveled far across this continent. The southern lands beyond are unknown to me, but I have heard enough stories to get you anywhere of note."

Moria leaned back, sitting on her haunches. White light ripped down her body as her scales reshuffled, and she raised her head proudly, as if accepting credit for the very existence of Mival. "Ah, yes... the grand city of illusions. I've never seen it with my own eyes, only heard the tales. For such a polite little gem, I will change that. And I am not shocked you came across the wounded. You humans are easy prey, even to creatures lesser than me."

"Very well," Moria purred, rising to all fours and stretching her lithe body. Silver pulsed across her muscles. "My presence shall deter the rabble. Few have the gal to face me."